#prelude to foundation

[daneelsolivaw]

cant get over chetter hummin/daneel saying “that sounds uncommonly ugly” like not “thats strange” or “that is a peculiar sounding hairstyle”. uncommonly ugly. advanced fashion. you could buy some. love that mischievous enquiring twink.

[theasimovzineproject]

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[someday-dreamlands]

𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒃𝒚 𝑰𝒔𝒂𝒂𝒄 𝑨𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒗. 

𝑪𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑨𝒓𝒕 𝒃𝒚 𝑻𝒊𝒎 𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒆

[stained-glass-cicada]

Fuck! I was already obsessed with the foundation series but I finished prelude and its left me with that "everyone ought to read this" feeling

This was, more or less expected as a lifelong sci-fi nerd finally reading asimov, but well, you never expect the classics to be as good as they are

I am now entirely convinced that I am reading these in the precise order I would want to (foundation, foundation and empire, prelude to foundation, so far)

Because I saw Seldon as an old man, placing the final pins in his big plan, become this almost deified figure. I saw the ways he solved problems and some of his rules of psychohistory and got the set up for the second foundation

Then, just as all faith in Seldon is thoroughly shaken: Hi here's Hari, he's never had a thought looking back farther than his breakfast two days ago, please enjoy watching him get run out of town repeatedly

He will now learn a series of lessons on what humans who aren't mathematicians are like, each will show him picking up the earliest inklings of what You Know will one day become psychohistory even as he denies its practicality

[2lim3rz]

Hummin is LITERALLY deus ex machina incarnate I SWEAR

[hazeism]

"Haze, where have you been?"

1. my pen broke 2. actually i have no excuses. umn. hi

[benedictusantonius]

[2024|003] Prelude to Foundation (1988) written by Isaac Asimov

[god-of-whatever]

Foundation

I'm not far into the book yet but so far I am rooting for Hari and Dors (sorry Yanna), please don't tell me Dors is indeed secretly plotting something.

-

[methodwriting]

hari seldon the token straight in dors and hummin t4t relationship. this is canon

[positronicvisions]

Eto Demerzel, First Minister to Emperor Cleon I

[azra-idek]

OK so thinking about something further. Prelude to Foundation and Robots and Empire spoilers under the read more tag.

Daneel says, at the end of Prelude, that Giskard invented the Zeroth law, and Giskard was acting in accordance with that when he deactivated. However, it was Daneel who coined the Zeroth Law, tried to convince Giskard of it, and Giskard's inability to wholly grasp it is what ultimately led to his deactivation due to his actions against the First Law.

Why would Daneel rewrite history in this method? It seems of no benefit to me superficially: perhaps only sentimentally to grant Giskard the authorship to the glorious Zeroth Law. I thought it was maybe a case of the author simply forgetting who did what, but Robots and Empire was written in 1985, and Prelude in 1988, so surely that is not the case.

If it is some significance in later times, just tell me that it is - I'm still reading! I just can't think it would have any true bearing.

[daneelsolivaw]

Recently discovered a new artist (Kacy Hill) and she’s so Dors coded like

[thatonegeekygirl]

do you guys want to see the good omens/foundation crossover i wrote for school? of course you do!!

“So,” Seldon said awkwardly, clasping his hands behind his back. “how’s your day been?” The man standing beside him turned his head. He wore a creamy coloured suit, brown checkered bow tie, and brown slacks, and made Seldon’s slick dark suit seem obtusely formal in comparison. His hair was white without being aged, and his face was neatly shaved and held wrinkles suggesting it often bore a cheerful smile. He was round though not heavyset, and a bit short. He held a kind of amiable and warm air about him that made Seldon feel as though at any moment he would pull out a kettle from his sleeve, and ask him how he liked his tea. 

The man smiled pleasantly. “Oh, you know how it is. Although, then again, I suppose you don’t.” He chuckled softly to himself, as if he were sharing a joke with an absent friend. “How about you, dear fellow?” Seldon nodded slowly. “Fine, fine, Mister…” “A.Z Fell!” The man held out a hand. “But you can just call me Aziraphale.”

They shook, and Seldon absentmindedly chose to avoid pointing out the fact that both names sounded nearly entirely alike.

“Seldon,” Seldon said. “Hari Seldon. You can call me Hari, or Seldon, or Hari Seldon, just for the love of Trantor don’t call me doctor.”

“Good to meet you, Hari, ” Aziraphale said with a smile. “I’ll refrain from calling you Doctor, of course, but if I may ask why do you have such an aversion to being referred to with your well-earned title?”

“It just doesn’t rub me the right way. I doubt I could explain it if I tried,” Seldon explained, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And I don’t mind being asked in the slightest. Afterall–” he gestured to the flashing panic button amongst the elevator's keypad. “--we may very well be stuck here a while.”

“Indeed we may.” Aziraphale checked his relic of a golden pocket watch. “It’s been nearly ten minutes already. Well, anyway, if we’re here for the foreseeable future, we may as well get to know one another. What do you do for a living, Hari?”

“I’m a mathematician,” Hair replied, expression darkening. “Although I often wish I wasn’t.”

“Whyever not?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. “It is my understanding that mathematics is a respectable and sought-after profession among humans.”

“Well, I suppose I don’t wish I wasn’t a mathematician. Rather that I hadn’t come up with one specific concept. If I’d just avoided straying from my studies on aerodynamics, if I’d never noticed the correlation between them and humanity, I would never have gotten into this mess in the first place!”

“What sort of mess?”

“The uncomfortable kind. You see, I developed a theory–and a theory it is only–that one could predict the statistical likelihood of future events through a combination of mathematical formulas and historical parallels. I called it psychohistory.” He sighed tiredly. “And in one trip from Helicon to Trantor I suddenly find myself mixed up in an arms race for the fate of the galaxy. Hummin seems to think I’ll come up with some grand ‘eureka!’ moment and discover the way to turn it from mere postulation to a practical reality. So far, though, I’ve got nothing greater than a few faint gut feelings. Not nearly enough substance to bet humanity’s future on.”

“Is Helicon your home planet?” Aziraphale asked mildly.

Grateful for the change in conversation, Seldon said, “Indeed it is. I don’t blame you if you’ve never heard of it. Trantorians who do are few and far between.”

“As a matter of fact, I have heard of it,” Aziraphale interjected genially, “although I can't claim I’m an educated Trantorian since I’m not one at all. It’s a small planet in the Arcturus sector, if I’m not mistaken. Quite well known among nearby worlds for its martial artists. You don’t happen to be one, do you? I’ve always wanted to meet a twister!”

“I’ve dabbled,” Seldon replied, surprised but delighted. “But wait, you're not from Trantor?”

“I am many things, but I am not Trantorian,” Aziraphale confirmed. 

“Where do you hail from, then?” Seldon inquired, curious.

“Oh, well…” Aziraphale waved a hand vaguely. “Around.”

Feeling as though he’d hit a nerve of some sort, Seldon fell silent, contemplating the odd man beside him and their conversation thus far. Aziraphale seemed unlike any person he’d met before, and Seldon had met plenty of peculiar personalities and cultures in his recent Hummin-induced travels. Perhaps it was simply that Aziraphale seemed far too nice. No human he’d had the pleasure of speaking to had been quite so genuinely good natured…In fact, now that he thought about it…

He turned his head subtly to look at Aziraphale. The man was now humming quietly to himself, some jaunty tune Seldon didn’t recognize, and swaying slightly back and forth. There didn’t seem to be any part of him that didn’t exude kind intentions and jovial mood. Even his outdated milk chocolate shoes declared their owner one of goodness. And he had said…

Seldon abruptly turned to face Aziraphale. “You’re not human at all, are you?” Aziraphale startled, and Seldon feared he’d crossed a line. Then, to his relief, Aziraphale ran a hand through his hair and smiled sheepishly. “No, Hari, I must admit I’m not. Should’ve known a lad as sharp as you would figure it out. Crowley’s always telling me not to chat with humans, but I just can’t help it! And you’re such a pleasant one too.”

“Well, what in the Emperor’s name are you then?” Seldon asked intently, resisting the urge to edge closer in examination. “Wait! Are you a robot? Is this Crowley a robot too?”

“No, no,” Aziraphale chuckled, “nothing like that, although I am sorry to disappoint. I’m an angel.”

“An…angel?” Seldon tilted his head.

“Oh, that’s right. I keep forgetting how long it’s been since humanity still believed in story tales...just think of me as a supernatural galactic supervisor,” Aziraphale clarified.

“Dors has told me about beings like you…” Seldon breathed in wonder. “She studies history, you know, and she’s quite good at it. But I never believed such things could be real! This changes…everything!” “I’m afraid, dear fellow, that you won’t remember enough of me to change much at all,” Aziraphale said apologetically. 

“What do you mean?” Seldon asked. 

“I truly am sorry, but Heaven doesn’t allow humans to go around declaring that entities like me exist. It tends to skew events a bit. The moment we step out of this elevator, you’ll believe you’ve been standing here alone this whole time. No worse for wear, either than a slight headache. It rarely happens anyway since few angels wish to spend any time speaking with humans at all. They don’t have much respect for mortals in general. It’s a shame, really,” Aziraphale mused wistfully, “I believe humans could teach us a great deal.”

The panic button suddenly emitted a chee note and blinked from a harsh red to a cheery blue.

“It seems as though they’ve managed to repair the mechanism,” Aziraphale said with a hesitant smile, as the elevator was gradually set into motion. “It’s been a refreshing conversation, my friend.” He held out his hand once more.

“And an enlightening one for me,” Seldon said as he took it, then continued somewhat desperately. “I really won’t remember this at all?”

“Perhaps a faint spark of emotion,” Aziraphale admitted, “if you’re lucky.”

“Then please,” Seldon said, “tell me. Am I doomed to search in vain for answers? Or is Hummin right? Do I find out how to use psychohistory for good?”

Aziraphale smiled, cupped a hand beside Seldon’s ear, and whispered his answer.

Then the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

Hari Seldon strode out of the elevator, grateful to be out in an open, bustling space after being enclosed in the tight chamber alone for so long. Checking the time on his watch, he glanced about in search of Dors, who’d told him to meet outside the elevators nearly fifteen minutes before the current time.

“Hari!” A familiar voice called. 

He spun around and a grin split his face. “Dors!” “What took you so long?” She asked, trying to be stern but unable to resist smiling back.

“The elevator broke down, believe it or not. Luckily they repaired it in somewhat short order. It was probably just an error in the programming, it happens from time to time when systems age,” Seldon explained. “Where are we off to now?” His stomach growled, and he smiled abashedly at Dors’ light laughter.

“I suppose we should get something to eat first,” she replied. She gestured to the right of the long hallway. “I know a place nearby that makes at least somewhat palatable food.” Dors began leading the way amongst the throng of people, and Seldon moved to follow,  but then paused as his eyes caught those of a man with creamy white hair. The man smiled knowingly at him, nodded once, and disappeared into the crowd. Seldon stared at the spot where he’d vanished.

“Hari? Hari!” Seldon snapped back to reality.

“What’s the matter? Do you see one of the Emperor’s men?” Dors asked, worried and alert.

“No, no…” Seldon said absently, “just…saw someone that reminded me of something I can’t quite remember…” “Perhaps it was just deja vu,” Dors suggested, “come on, a full stomach will surely help with whatever it is that's got you on edge.” Seldon nodded slowly and they once again began their walk to the restaurant.

“Did spending time alone in a broken elevator give you any time to contemplate psychohistory? Hummin is beginning to worry you won’t manage to come up with anything before the Emperor gets a hold of you,” Dors questioned.

“No, surprisingly not…” Seldon replied, glancing once more in the direction where the white-haired stranger had vanished. “But for some reason I find myself sure that everything will turn out fine.”

[larmegliamori]

Hari & Dors in period-accurate (Late Roman Empire) clothing.

[waffle-sorter]

"The victim of a crime" - well, first of all you haven't demonstrated that a crime took place. The accusation leveled against the protagonists is "intent to start a riot" (which, does that even have a "victim"?); the evidence presented is "you said this guy worked for the government instead of the news"; the supposed victim is neither dead nor hurt, but says he was handled roughly...

"You, as the criminals" - see above, and also they're only the accused so far.

[paulgadzikowski]

I'm rereading Prelude to Foundation right now, of all things to encounter a passage about the way empires suppress resistance by cultivating internecine conflict between progressives

Re-reading A Canticle for Leibowitz, and I remember when I read it the first time as a tween thinking, "Okay, it's kind of far-fetched that people would be so rabidly anti-knowledge, but I'll accept it for the sake of the story, " but now I look around and like, yep, Walter M. Miller was a fucking prophet.